


Everything's Gone White, Everything's Grey

by gostisbehere (castielsstarr)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 03:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13941846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielsstarr/pseuds/gostisbehere
Summary: It doesn’t start slow. There isn’t a build up to it. There’s a moment where Nolan is fine. He’s drinking his coffee, getting dressed to head over to the rink for practice.Then he’s not fine.





	Everything's Gone White, Everything's Grey

**Author's Note:**

> I've been... trying to deal with a lot of shit recently and this came out of it. I don't expect people to read it, but I still felt it important to publish regardless. Unbeta'd, as per usual. Title from "Glycerine" by Bush.

It doesn’t start slow. There isn’t a build up to it. The thoughts don’t quietly nag over the course of the day until it’s suddenly too much. There’s a moment where Nolan is fine. He’s drinking his coffee, getting dressed to head over to the rink for practice.

Then he’s not fine.

Then he’s sitting on the bathroom floor, leaning against the side of the bathtub because it’s more sturdy than anything else and if he pukes, well, all he’s had so far is coffee, so it’ll be easy enough to clean up. The tub beside him and the tile beneath are cool to the touch, colder where they press against the bare skin on his arms, his shoulder, his side. Shit, he hadn’t even gotten far enough to put a shirt on?

Nolan’s arms are wrapped around his knees that are tight to his chest because maybe, just maybe, the pressure will help him calm down. It’s worked before, it can work again. His heart feels like it’s grown to fill the entirety of his torso—it’s crushing him, he can’t breathe—and his stomach churns because the thoughts won’t leave him alone. He’s been called so many things since the draft and it’s not the nice ones that stick. It’s “worthless” and “sickly” and “failure,” those are the ones that he can’t get out of his head when he’s trying to sleep at night.

There’s no self medication in hockey aside from hockey. He’s seen what happens to the ones that go out on benders, partying, trying to drink away everything. They either shape up or they don’t make it. All Nolan can do is go out there and bust his ass training on the ice. He comes home hurt and doesn’t say anything about it. Throws an ice pack on it and tries to heal up enough to go out there and work again for the next game. This is what helps.

Until now, when it doesn’t. The last few practices, Nolan has been pushing like he was in the playoffs. His fastest skating, trying to score as much as he can. It wasn’t enough and now he’s ready to quit. That’s what all those people want him to do, right? They don’t want him in Philadelphia. Nolan should have gone even lower in the draft. He doesn’t deserve this team and—

Something is registering warm against Nolan’s left shoulder, but he isn’t able to react to it. He wants to turn his head, figure out where the heat is coming from, but it’s not like he could see it anyway. His eyes are full and wet and turning is just so much effort. It would be a fight that he isn’t sure he has in him anymore.

The warmth travels along his arm, and maybe his nerves aren’t delivering messages up to speed because he still feels it even after a body kneels in front of him and there are two hand-shaped blurs approaching him. He has no idea who it is and they’re probably talking to him but Nolan can’t hear it. Can’t hear himself because his chest is heaving with what he assumes are sobs but the noise isn’t registering.

If this is his coach in front of him, he’s going to have to explain a lot of things and he’s hoping it isn’t. That’s a conversation Nolan wasn’t ever planning on having. His insecurities, his anxieties… those were his problems. The team doesn’t need to know about the days where he feels like living is just too fucking hard.

Soft noises. He can hear the starts of something getting through but he can’t focus on it. It’s too much effort to focus and Nolan doesn’t think he has it in him right now. The best he can do is wait, passively listening until the sounds become words and the words become his name and the voice is Ivan’s, he thinks. His nerves are starting to transmit signals again because he can feel hands gripping tight to his arms, and he also feels when they leave.

The pressure was bringing him back to himself, he realizes, as everything starts to swell again. Nolan won’t let himself scream, though he feels it building, biting his lip deep to keep it in. But he can hear words, Ivan is still close by and that’s at least something.

“Coach? Yeah, I got him… his hotel room… No, neither of us are coming to practice today… I understand, but I’m not leaving him… We’ll see if he feels like coming back tomorrow… I’ll talk to him about that, yeah… I’ve got to go.”

That tight grip on his upper arms is back again, holding on and keeping him in place. Ivan must be closer this time because his voice seems louder but Nolan knows him, he wouldn't raise his voice. Not unless he was scared. This was scary, maybe more so to an outsider. Fuck, he doesn't want to scare Ivan.

It must have brought another bout of tears because Ivan is shushing him cradling his cheek in one hand. "Hey, Nolan." It still sounds garbled and muted but at least it was more than he had before. "I don't know if you can hear me right now but... I'm right here, ok? Not going anywhere."

It makes Nolan cry harder.

\-----

He isn't sure how long they've been there on the bathroom floor like this. Ivan kept his word, though. He's been there the entire time, muttering softly to Nolan, pressing his fist against Nolan's chest when he grabbed his wrist and put it there.

Breathing isn't as brutal as before, the air starting to feel cool when it hits his lungs instead of suffocating. Nolan releases the grip on Ivan’s hand, but Ivan keeps it in place, shifting from a balled fist to his flat palm. He sighs and leans into it. The first word he tries is silent, the second his voice cracks, and the third comes out softly. “Ivan.”

“There you are. That’s good.”

Nolan lets his head loll forward, finally feeling the tension in his neck release after so long of everything being locked tight. “S-sorry,” he mumbles.

Ivan’s supporting his face now, lifting him to make sure Nolan’s looking. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry for. I just… what do you need?”

Five things pop to mind—his brain has only slowed down marginally, though he can feel the racing thoughts starting to ease—but he doesn’t have the energy to voice them. It’s still too much. “Bed?” He can at least say that without losing his breath, and that’s a good start. The shaking set in a while ago. It’s likely the decrease in adrenaline and not the chill, but he realizes he feels cold now and blankets, soft, warm, all sound helpful.

“Definitely, bed.” He helps Nolan to his feet and catches him when his legs give out. Too long on the tile gave him pins and needles, but the pain almost helps as Ivan gets him into the bedroom and changed into a pair of sweatpants. It’s something else to focus on for a minute.

Under the covers, finally comfortable, the shivers start to subside. Ivan’s sitting on the edge of the bed, carefully staring at his own hands like he’s trying to figure out what is ok to do or where to look. “C’mere?” Nolan asks softly, barely pushing the blanket open for his teammate. It’s enough that Ivan should know what he wants and, god, he’s tired now. These one-word sentences are all he can manage and he’s probably going to lose even that soon.

Ivan kicks off his shoes and crawls under the covers with Nolan, hesitating when he goes to get close. “I don’t know what you need right now. Is touch ok?”

He nods and lets his eyes slip closed for a moment, a slow blink with eyes taking longer to focus when he opens them again. “Please?”

The vacant space beside him is occupied as Ivan snuggles closer. He wraps his arm around Nolan’s waist, dragging him in close, and Nolan has never appreciated Ivan’s cologne more. He smells familiar, safe, comfortable, and it helps ease him down until he finally feels the majority of the panic pass.

“Tomorrow,” he whispers against Ivan’s skin and Ivan’s arms tighten around him further.

“Tomorrow?”

“Talk.”

“Talk tomorrow. Got it. Rest now, ok? I’ve got you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with me on Tumblr, I promise I don't bite:  
> General hockey blog: [gostisbhere.tumblr.com](http://www.gostisbhere.tumblr.com)  
> Shipping hockey blog: [mousemarns](http://www.mousemarns.tumblr.com)


End file.
